


Screaming into the Storm

by Silverlace_Vine



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, But not the regular kind, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Oneshot, Spoilers I suppose, but let's be real if spoilers mattered to you, you wouldn't be reading fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15409332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlace_Vine/pseuds/Silverlace_Vine
Summary: A brief view of Noctis' emotional turmoil after Altissia.Originally posted to the FFXV Kink Meme; this version has some minor edits for clarity, general improvement, and the inclusion of Episode Ignis.





	Screaming into the Storm

 

Holding his breath isn't working anymore.

He can feel Gladio's disgust filling up the silent emptiness between them.  
  
Most of the time, being harsh is his way of lighting a fire under Noctis' ass. The prince knows this, even appreciates it; anger and indignation tend to burn very bright and very hot, and when dedication alone isn't enough, it helps.  
  
Now, it's not tough love, it's actual _anger_. Loathing. Hate.  
  
In his head, the answer is easy: _You want to talk about people who have it worse? What about Luna? What about my father? What about the people who couldn't evacuate in time? What about the people who got out, but lost their homes, their jobs? Maybe my pain doesn't count because you can't see it, but you walked out of that nightmare better than anyone, you've got no right to tell me I can't mourn when you're the only person who came out in one piece. I was too busy fighting a god for the right to save the world, what's **your** excuse? Come back to me when you can feel his eyesight scraping against your soul because you were too unconscious to help. Let me know if it feels anything like a trident, you bastard._  
  
But it doesn't come out, even when he tries to scream it. There's a wall of memory in front of those words, his father telling him that a king should never need to raise his voice. Luna, quietly telling him that pain only begets two things: compassion, and more pain; people who spread suffering deserve the most compassion, because they wouldn't be doing it if they didn't have so much of it inside themselves.  The most he can do is insist that he's not what Gladio says he is, biting down on the fact that he doesn't know how to fix what happened to Ignis, can't address it without making it worse.  _Luna could have, Luna could have..._  
  
So he puts it aside. He walks away. He lets Gladio be angry, because Gladio needs to be angry at something. Why _shouldn't_ he blame Noctis for this? He's not the one who blinded their friend, but he's the reason that friend was blinded in the first place.  
  
He holds his breath.  
  
It doesn't work.  
  
The burning in his eyes doesn't go away. The lump in his throat won't go down. But the sobs won't come if he doesn't breathe, so he tries to hold his breath. They come anyway.  
  
Fists clenched in his own sleeves, teeth gritted, lips salty from the teartracks ending at the corners of his mouth, he tries so hard to just bite it all back and can't.  
  
_They'll hear, they'll hear, I can't-- I can't--_  
  
He tries to scream because if he absolutely has to lose control over this, rage would be less embarrassing, but all that comes out is a pathetic, strangled whimper, a wounded-animal noise. The thoughts roll around in his head, _I have to get past this, I don't want to be king if this is what it costs, it's not worth it, **I'm** not worth it, I need more time but there's no time left and there's no one left who can do any of it except me and I'm-- I just need a minute-- Iggy... Luna... Dad..._  
  
Bright and sharp and sudden, a bolt of lightning strikes the ground bare inches in front of him and leaves a glowing, white-hot scar in the stone; a torrent of rain sheets down in its wake, and the thunder that follows bare seconds behind it is so loud it makes his skin tingle as if he'd been physically struck.  
  
Ramuh.  
  
It's the voice of an ancient presence that echoes in his head, somewhere so close that the ringing in his ears is less obstruction and more accompaniment, or maybe the ringing deafness of a thunderclap is how the voice of a storm god is supposed to sound.  
  
_It is a heavy burden, O king. I cannot lift it for you, nor can you set it down; all was foreordained, before you and I ever knew life. Those who would admonish you for weakness look to you for strength._  
  
"Is that why you're here? To admonish me?" He tries so hard not to sound like a petulant child, but the attempt makes it even worse, and Noctis regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  
  
The ringing skips a bit, as if laughing, gently.

_All who have walked the earth as kings have done so under the same sky that lingers over you now. Not a single one has ever been exempt from the realities of life and death, of joy and pain. A crown does not make a man any more or less than what he is, nor do tears, nor does grief, but enough pain can change a man for the worse, drive him to become that which he would have hated, commit acts he once abhorred, speak words he does not mean; you have seen this more than once, since you set forth on this journey towards your own fate._

_  
Nay, O king. I am not here to punish you._

_I am here because no matter how great your title, no matter how grand your destiny, you are still a man, and I am still the sky._

  
It would've been impossible for anyone to see the lone young man all in black under the darkness of the clouds, but if they had, they would think he shook with cold and not with despair, that the water falling from his cheeks is rain and not tears, that he is silent and not screaming at the top of his lungs into the storm.


End file.
